Whispers Of Peace And War

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Mythrd fumbled with his battle axe, his palm becoming slick with sweat. This was not a game. It wasn't he and Gythryn replaying old, legendary stories. They weren't attacking each other with sticks and badly made wooden swords that would break if they struck at each other too hard. He couldn't get hit by one of the Gaeradine swords and come away with a bruise, or a little nick. Those long, heavy curved swords would damage him. At worst, kill him and Gythryn.

Gythryn didn't seem to care. She had a gleam in her eye that he could see even in the darkness. Even with the colours, outlines and trails of the Aura. She had a look to her that screamed excitement at the chance to fight someone for real. Mythrd thought she had gone mad and he could do nothing but raise his axe and pray to the Guardians that neither of them would die.

The Gaeradine wasted no time, racing forward to attack, but they had not considered their surroundings. Nor did they have the advantage of the Aura to bring Gythryn and he into sharp focus. They appeared to only see Gythryn, her sword raised in readiness. Mythrd couldn't tell if they ignored him, or could not see him in the darkness. He took that as an advantage, too.

One of those great, curved swords sliced out towards Gythryn, but she no longer stood within the arc of the swing. Fleet of foot, her sword thinner, not as heavy, she skipped around behind the trunk of a nearby tree. The Gaeradine's sword hit nothing and it took all the man's strength to arrest the swing, fighting to bring it back under his control.

Another Gaeradine, a woman, her face blackened by war paint into the vision of a hook-beaked bird of prey, edged around the man. She raised her sword above her head, readying to bring it down upon Gythryn's skull, but Gythryn moved again, causing the woman to turn as she tried to bring her blade down.

The third skipped through the undergrowth, trying to circle around Gythryn, but Gythryn anticipated that, turning, herself, and moving back towards the first man. It seemed like one of their games, to Mythrd, and Gythryn played with these hardened warriors as she had played with Mythrd. He only hoped that this game would not be Gythryn's last.

All the while, Mythrd tried to find an opening, himself. The man on the forest floor, that Gythryn had punched into unconsciousness, now stirred, his hand lifting to his jaw. For good measure, Mythrd kicked out with his heavy boot, catching the man in the temple and sending him once more into black oblivion. He hadn't the heart to bring his axe down upon the man, though he knew he should.

Mythrd wasn't a killer. At least, he didn't feel like a killer. All thoughts of joining the army had faded away into non-existence, now. The thought of training to take another's life felt so very wrong to him. After seeing so many people die, in recent days, in many awful, terrible ways, had made all thoughts of becoming a soldier sickening to him. He did not want to take life, he wanted to help it grow.

Seeing the Aura had only made those thoughts all the more clear. He could see life, now. See it in everything. Even the soil beneath his feet teemed with life. The Gaeradine burned with life. Gythryn appeared a beacon of life in the darkness of the night, darkened further by the canopy of leaves above and the trunks of the trees that hid any light from the moons above.

One of those burning lives winked out, in an instant, and Mythrd heard a growl of triumph from the throat of Gythryn. One of the Gaeradine had launched his sword towards her with a wild swing, only for Gythryn to step in towards him, burying her sword deep in the man's chest. She held onto him, fingers gripping the collar of his jacket, and, as his comrades came to the man's aid, Gythryn pushed the dead man towards them, a laugh escaping her lips.

"Mythrd! Go!" Bouncing the tip of her blade, crouching and stalking sideways, Gythryn waved her other hand towards him. "I can handle these bastards. You have to get Agarang before they put him on one of those horses!"